


I'm taking back the crown

by blackkat



Series: Crazy=Genius [2]
Category: Bleach, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Misuse of Quincy Powers, Threats of Bodily Harm, it's for a good cause I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 21:22:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14341176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Bazz meets the Dursleys. It goes about how one would expect.





	I'm taking back the crown

“ _Another_ cousin?” Bazz says, and wonders if he should be exasperated.

McGonagall doesn’t precisely make a face, but her nose definitely wrinkles slightly. “Not directly,” she says, a little stiff. “It would be over a thousand years back, but you are both part of the Black family. Not that it is of consequence.”

“I think family’s pretty consequential,” Bazz retorts. “Why isn't this asshole taking Harry, if they're related too?”

“Because Sirius Black is currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban,” McGonagall informs him tartly, and sets another stack of forms on the desk in front of him. “He is the reason James and Lily Potter were found by You-Know-Who, and when a friend confronted him, Black killed him and twelve Muggles.”

All right, Bazz can see why he’s out of the running as far as taking Harry is concerned. With a grimace, he settles back, shaking out his hand before he reaches for the next set of forms. A thousand years of archery training with both hands means he’s not terrible writing with his left, but it’s a lot less legible than he’d prefer. Still neater than his kanji would be, though, and hopefully the Ministry will let it slide.

“Is there a way to visit him?” Bazz asks, squinting down at the form. Fuck, this is like being a captain all over again. He thought he was done with administrative bullshit.

The stretching silence finally catches his attention, and he blinks as he glances up into McGonagall's tight expression. She stares at him for a long moment, then adjusts her glasses and says, “I can't imagine why you would want to, but yes, visits are possible. You would have to arrange it with the Ministry, though.”

Since Bazz is going to have to dump all of this shit on one of their departments anyway, he might as well take care of it then. Better than asking someone else to arrange it, anyway; Bazz can't exactly say that he doesn’t give a damn how many people this Sirius Black killed, just that he’s a relative. They seem to be coming out of the woodwork right now.

The fact that he killed Harry's parents is a lot less easy to deal with, but Bazz wants to look Sirius in the eyes before he says anything to the kid. Less trauma that way, hopefully.

(Besides, if it comes down to it, Bazz is pretty damn good at killing people. He’s got his crossbow and can probably scrounge up more than enough reishi to make a few arrows. He might not be _great_ at subtlety, but he can manage when he has to. All he needs is the chance to get close.)

“Many Blacks left?” he asks with a grunt, signing his name with a flourish, then tossing the paper onto the completed pile.

McGonagall sweeps them out of the way, neatening them with quick hands. “Some,” she says. “Married into other family lines, for the most part. Of the main line, only Sirius is left.”

 _Sirius_ , rather than _Black_ , and Bazz is willing to bet it’s a slip up. She must have known him, and as more than just a student. He doesn’t comment, just huffs in acknowledgement and then eyes the remaining papers. “Fuck, there's a lot left.”

Expression unimpressed, McGonagall pushes it in front of him. “I took the liberty of securing a request for a stipend for you,” she says. “The Ministry is tightfisted, but not uncompromising, and childcare happens to be one of their priorities, as long as it involves removing magical children from Muggles.”

Bazz could _kiss_ her, if he didn’t think it would end with him missing another arm. “Thanks,” he manages instead, maybe a little rough; he’s not used to people even _wanting_ to help. Not among the Wandenreich, and certainly not in the World of the Living.

To his great relief, McGonagall doesn’t acknowledge the moment of emotion. “Of course,” she says briskly, and rises. “I’ll call for more tea.”

So maybe not _all_ spiritually blind humans are idiots. Bazz is more than willing to admit that in this case, he was definitely mistaken.

 

 

“Your _cousin_ ,” Hermione repeats, and it sounds like she doesn’t know whether to be overjoyed or suspicious.

“Yeah,” Harry says, grinning as he drags his trunk down from the rack. A whole year of dreading the end of classes, and he’s never been happier to be worried for nothing. “He has a place in Peckham, but he says he’s going to look for a bigger flat if he can.”

“That’s brilliant,” Ron says without hesitation, grinning back. “You said McGonagall found him?”

At that, Hermione's feathers visibly become less ruffled, and Harry mouths a thank you at Ron as she turns to get her trunk. He gives Harry a thumbs up, then quickly drops it in favor of helping Hermione.

“Yeah,” Harry answers, before the moment stretches too long. “Bazz said she had to go back a thousand years or something, to find out what happened to his family. But his great-something-grandmother was sisters with my great-great-something grandmother.”

“Magical genealogies are _fascinating_ ,” Hermione says enthusiastically, almost running over a second-year Ravenclaw as she shoulders out into the corridor. Harry winces, but follows with a sheepishly apologetic smile at the girl. “Did you know that a high concentration of the old nobility used to be magical until the witch hunts started? They started trying to breed it out after that, but—”

Harry stops listening as they spill out onto the platform, because there's a figure waiting, leaning back against the wall. Bazz is scanning the far end of the platform, ignoring the looks he’s getting, but he’s the furthest thing from inconspicuous. In this light his hair is definitely pink, and he traded in the dark shirt Harry last saw him in for a white coat with one sleeve pinned up.

For a moment, Harry doesn’t know if he should call, if that’s okay. It’s _him_ ; people are going to make note if he does, and maybe Bazz doesn’t want the attention. He said he was _something like that_ rather than outright a wizard, and if he’s trying to pass as a Muggle—

But then Bazz turns his head, eyes immediately landing on Harry, and he raises his hand in a wave. Harry grin, waves back, and jogs across the platform as quickly as the weight of his trunk will let him. Bazz meets him halfway, ignoring the people who scatter out of his path, and scoops Hedwig’s cage off its precarious perch on top of the trunk.

“Hey, Harry,” Bazz tells him, grinning back. “Got everything?”

“Pretty much,” Harry answers, and there are still a few things with the Dursleys, but he has his wand, his Cloak, his broom, and the photo album with his parents’ pictures that Hagrid gave him; that’s everything important.

Bazz nods, hefts Hedwig’s cage carefully, and glances at Ron and Hermione, who are a short distance behind Harry. “Paperwork’s filed with the Ministry,” he says. “We should be good to go if you want to say your goodbyes.”

“Sure!” Harry sets his trunk down and turns, just in time to get a face-full of bushy hair as Hermione throws herself at him. He laughs, and she does too, hugging him tightly.

“Have a good summer, Harry,” she says warmly, pulling back.

“You too,” Harry tells her.

“You both have to come and stay this summer,” Ron says, then glances at Bazz. “Er, if that’s all right with your cousin.”

There's something that’s equal parts sad and amused in the slant of Bazz's mouth, but he tips one shoulder in a shrug and says easily, “Whatever you want. We’ll be around.”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited for a summer. No Dursleys, no _Dudley_ , no cupboard under the stairs. Not even Dudley’s toy room. No matter where Bazz lives and what his flat looks like, it’s already a massive improvement.

Ron grins, though he keeps looking at Bazz's mohawk with something that might be envy. “I’ll send you an owl,” he promises Harry.

“I can't wait,” Harry tells him, but…it’s not entirely true. He can definitely wait, if he’s staying with Bazz. There's no desperate drive to get away from his family, no anger bubbling up in his chest. All he feels is—

Well. _Happy_. It’s a nice change from how summers normally go.

Waving a goodbye to both of his friends, Harry hefts his trunk up again and follows Bazz towards the ticket barrier. There are a couple of calls after him, cheerful and friendly, and Harry waves to them too, but doesn’t pause as Bazz strides through the wall. A moment later, Harry's emerging into the main station, and there’s an excited sound off to his left.

“Look, Mom, there he is!”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.”

Harry winces. Ron's little sister, but she’s definitely not pointing at Ron.

“You’ve got quite the fanclub,” Bazz says, raising a brow at Harry, who tries very hard not to make a face. Catching that, Bazz snickers, and Harry glares at him for half a moment before he has to turn to meet Ron's mother as she approaches.

“Busy year?” she asks kindly.

“Very,” Harry says, grinning. “Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley.”

“It was nothing, dear.” She glances up, looking Bazz over, and then smiles, apparently undeterred by how he looks. “And is this your family, then?”

“Bazz Black,” Bazz offers. “I'm Harry's cousin.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes widen, and then her entire expression brightens. “Oh, did someone finally manage to locate Iola’s family? That’s wonderful!”

For a moment, Bazz looks taken aback, but after a second he tips his head, looking her over. “Yeah, she was my ancestor. You’re…?”

“Not _me_ ,” Mrs. Weasley says quickly, slightly flustered. “My husband Arthur, though—his mother was Cedrella Black.”

Bazz just shrugs one shoulder faintly. “Sorry,” he says halfheartedly. “Mo—Iola was disowned, so I don’t know a lot about her side of the family. My parents never told me much.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Weasley says apologetically, but kindly. “If they’d ever like to hear more, or you would—”

“They were killed,” Bazz interrupts, and that smile is as sharp as knives, almost gruesome to look at. “When I was a kid. But thanks.”

Horror flickers across Mrs. Weasley’s face, and Harry feels his own heart lurch, somewhere between surprise and bitter sympathy. He wants to reach out, say _something_ , but before he can there's the sound of a throat being cleared pointedly.

“Ready, are you?” Uncle Vernon asks pointedly, and he looks furious and purple-faced enough that Harry takes a step back despite himself. Bazz catches the motion, and without hesitation he’s turning, dropping Hedwig’s cage onto Harry's trunk. In an instant, the relatively polite expression he was wearing with Mrs. Weasley is gone; he tips his chin up, eyes narrowing, mouth twisting into a sharp-edged smirk. One step forward puts him right in front of Harry, heavy boot thumping down on the floor, and his hand curls into a fist that looks like it would be entirely at home planted in the center of Uncle Vernon’s face.

“ _Hey_ ,” Bazz says, dangerously friendly, and he’s not a very tall man, but the bright pink mohawk adds just enough height for it to look like he’s looming over Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who looks abruptly terrified. “You’d be the Dursleys, yeah?”

Uncle Vernon apparently can't decide whether to bristle or shrink back. “Who are _you_?” he blusters, and then barks, “Boy! Move!”

Those blue-white sparks flicker around Bazz's hand, and he lashes out without hesitating, snatching Vernon by the collar and dragging him forward as he yelps.

“Hey,” Bazz repeats, right up in his face, and his grin is wide and almost mad, full of teeth and threat. “You might want to watch how you talk to my cousin, man. I'm liable to get a little _hot under the collar_ if you're too rude.” He lets go, then taps Vernon hard in the center of the chest with one finger, lifts his hand, and levels it right in Vernon’s face. There's a spark, and then fire curls through the air between them. Just a bit, but it’s more than enough to make Vernon go chalk-white and stagger back into Dudley and Petunia’s arms as she cries out in distress.

With a wicked laugh, Bazz turns away, scoops up Hedwig’s cage again, and grins at Harry. “Come on, let’s go,” he says. “I think we’re done here.”

Harry feels like he could _fly_ right now, without any magic beyond the look on Uncle Vernon’s face. He grins back, and offers a horrified-looking Mrs. Weasley a bright, “Thanks, Mrs. Weasley!” before he hurries after Bazz.

(Ginny is staring after them, open-mouthed, and there's something on her face that Harry can't quite figure out, but it’s a lot like the way she looks at him. Just—not directed at him this time, and Harry can't be anything but grateful.)

“Whoops,” Bazz tells him as they head towards St. Pancras Station. He doesn’t actually sound sorry at all. “I got a bit carried away there.”

“It was _brilliant_ ,” Harry tells him gleefully.

Bazz laughs, bumps Harry with his hip as they emerge into the sunlight. “I don’t think they’re going to be a problem anymore, even if you have to see them again,” he says. “Mission accomplished.”

Harry's cousin is the _best person ever_.

 

 

“ _What_?” Bazz demands. “No, I can't come in tonight—”

“Because your social life is so full,” Vance says, but even the dryness is distracted, and Bazz can hear the clatter of dishes and raised voices in the background. “Black, I have a full house out there, and a cook and two of the waitstaff have already called in sick. I will pay you double your normal wages to come in tonight as long as you get here _soon_. Triple, even, if you stop arguing.”

Bazz groans, rubbing a hand over his face. He casts a glance at Harry, still unpacking his trunk in his new room, and then grimaces at himself. One thing to leave the kid alone when he’s had a chance to settle in, but it’s his first night here and Bazz is fully aware of how child-raising has changed since he was a kid, even if he’s never been directly involved in the process.

“ _Fine_ ,” he spits. “But I'm going to have to bring my cousin. I can't leave him alone tonight.”

“As long as he stays out of the way, I don’t care,” Vance informs him, then snaps, “No, don’t you dare plate that—”

The buzz of the dial tone cuts her off.

“Fan- _fucking_ -tastic,” Bazz mutters, but hangs up the phone and scrubs his fingers through his hair. All the gel is coming out, but if he’s going to hurry he doesn’t have time to style it. Strangling another groan, he stalks past Harry's room and raps his knuckles against the doorframe. “Hey, Harry, I got called into work. Want to tag along? You’ll probably get some free food out of it.”

Harry blinks, then shoves his glasses back up his nose and climbs to his feet. “Sure,” he says, cheerfully enough. “Where do you work?”

“Restaurant off Diagon Alley,” Bazz says, already moving to change his clothes. The uniform is the kind of thing he should probably hate, but—he’s spent most of the last thousand years wearing the Sternritter uniform. Putting on some kind of uniform, even if it’s not the same, is almost a comfort. It keeps the owner happy as well, and Emmeline Vance is sharp enough that Bazz is willing to put a little extra effort into keeping her content.

“You work at a _restaurant_?” Harry asks incredulously, and Bazz huffs, hopping on one foot to pull on his sock even as he heads back up the hall. Harry follows him, and Bazz flips him a knut for the public Floo.

“What, just because I have one arm I can't serve food?” he asks, shoving his feet into his shoes.

Harry rolls his eyes where he probably thinks Bazz can't see. “I didn’t mean the arm!” he protests. “I meant, er—”

When he fumbles for words, Bazz takes pity on him and snickers. “You mean my glorious mohawk and these?” He tugs on the bolt in his ear lobe. “Believe me, I'm not the weirdest thing in Diagon Alley, and drunk assholes are a lot more likely to keep their traps shut if they know someone’s around who can kick their asses.”

“So you don’t just threaten Muggles?” Harry asks, but he’s grinning.

Bazz snorts, pulling his jacket on and grabbing his keys. “Kid, I _am_ a Muggle to most of the wizarding world.” He leads the way out of the flat, then down three flights of creaky stairs and out the main door. There's a spice shop on the corner with heavy wards on it to keep Muggles from noticing anything, but Bazz nudges Harry through the entrance and waves to the pretty Indian woman at the counter. She smiles back, but goes back to her magazine, and Bazz tosses a knut into the bag next to the fireplace, then asks, “Ever used a Floo before?”

“A what?” Harry asks warily, eyeing the flames warily.

Right. That’s going to be a steep learning curve. Bazz grimaces, but the fireplace at Vance’s is big enough that traveling together shouldn’t be a problem. He hooks his arm around Harry's shoulder, then says, “Grab a handful of that green powder and toss it on the fire. It’ll make the flames safe.”

“Safe?” Harry repeats interestedly, even as he throws the Floo powder in.

“More or less,” Bazz says, ignores his sound of alarm, and takes a step into the fire, calling, “Emmeline’s!”

The flames surge, whirling them away, and Harry yelps. Bazz keeps a tight grip on his shirt collar as they're spun past a dozen other fireplaces, then spit out onto a wide hearth that’s neatly swept. Harry almost crashes face-first into one of the waitresses, only saved by Bazz's arm, and he hauls the boy back upright and sets him on his feet.

“Now you can say you’ve used a Floo,” he says, amused at Harry's faintly green features. “Congratulations.”

Harry groans. “I think I prefer brooms,” he retorts.

Bazz snorts, then pulls him out of the way of one of the cooks as she bolts past. “This is faster,” he points out, then glances around. “Okay, I'm going to dump you with Giselle. I’ll be back in a bit.”

The woman manning the bar at the edge of the dining room glances up at the sound of her name, then arches a white-gold brow in surprise at the sight of Harry. “Bazz,” she says, and offers Harry a smile. “Babysitting tonight? Emmeline said you told her you were busy.”

Bazz gives her a dark look. “Did you think I was lying?” he snaps.

Giselle smiles back, the kind of smile that makes most men and a lot of women fall over themselves to fill her tip jar. Bazz just bristles in the face of it. “Bazz, the only thing more unbelievable than you having plans is you having plans with _other people_.”

“I hate you,” Bazz growls. “Harry, this is the biggest current pain in my ass. Giselle, Harry. Don’t eat him.”

“Black!” Vance calls from the kitchen, and Bazz curses, hurrying to grab his apron before she can get annoyed.

 

 

Harry eyes the bartender for a long moment as the swinging doors close behind Bazz. She eyes him right back, folding her arms on top of the dark bar and leaning forward. In the dim light, her skin is almost glowing, pale and moon-bright, and Harry is about eighty percent certain that she’s not actually human. Humans aren’t usually that beautiful.

“So. Harry?” she asks curiously. “Another Black?”

She probably can't see his scar in this light, and Harry isn't about tell her who he is if she doesn’t know. “Bazz is my cousin,” he says instead, and is almost surprised when her face lights up in an incandescent smile.

“Really?” she asks. “Oh, good for him. I'm glad he’s got some family somewhere. You must have just gotten out of school, right? Hogwarts or Beauxbatons?”

“Hogwarts,” Harry says, a little tentatively. “Er, what’s Beauxbatons?”

Giselle makes a face. “English,” she mutters, and then tells him, “It’s another magical school in France. Very beautiful.”

Harry hasn’t actually considered that there might be more schools like Hogwarts, but now it seems obvious. He gives Giselle a sheepish smile, and she snorts, then waves a hand at the closest tall chair. “Sit down, you’ll probably be here for a while. We’re busy tonight.”

Harry hauls himself up onto the seat, then turns to look out over the dining room. A moment later, a glass settles itself on the bar next to him, and when he startles Giselle gives him a wink.

“I’ll put it on Bazz's tab,” she says, then plucks a paper airplane out of the air as it swoops down to her, unfolds it, and turns away. A flourish of her wand brings the bottles arranged behind her to life, and Harry watches, wide-eyed with amazement, as they swirl around her, pouring and mixing and practically dancing though the air. The filled glasses settle on a tray at the edge of the bar, and Bazz grabs it without even pausing as he strides past.

“Don’t get him drunk, siren!” he calls over his shoulder.

“It’s nonalcoholic, and I'm a _Veela_!” Giselle retorts.

“Veela?” Harry asks curiously. Probably not human, then, which is—interesting. He hasn’t particularly thought about magical creatures who are like humans, though after the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest he supposes he should have.

Giselle wrinkles her nose a little. “I'm sure you’ll read about us in your Care of Magical Creatures class,” she says, disdainful. “But we’re just like wizards, only prettier. And more magical. And we can throw fire when we get angry.”

Harry files that away to ask Bazz about later, since he seems to know a lot about the wizarding world even if he doesn’t consider himself a wizard. “You're really pretty,” his mouth says, before he quite means to.

For half a second, he thinks he’s offended Giselle. Her eyes widen, and she pulls back a little, but then she laughs, bright and throaty. “Thank you,” she says. “That’s sweet of you. You’re going to be dangerous when you’re older, Harry.”

Harry isn't entirely sure what she means by that, but he ducks his head, nudging his glasses up. Movement catches his attention, and he glances up in time to see a stately-looking woman in a green shawl come to a stop beside the bar. “Everything working properly?” she asks, and then gives Harry a curious look.

“Apparently Bazz _did_ have plans tonight,” Giselle says, cheerfully wicked. “This is his cousin. And I'll be fine unless we get another rush.”

But the witch isn't looking at her; she’s watching Harry closely, and there's a look that’s both soft and sad in her face. “You look just like James,” she says quietly, and when Harry starts she smiles. “I went to school with your parents,” she explains. “Though I was in Ravenclaw, and several years ahead of them. I'm Emmeline Vance.”

“Er, nice to meet you,” Harry manages.

Vance nods in response, then looks over as Bazz approaches. “Any more complaints from table seven?” she asks.

Bazz scoffs, dropping the tray back onto the bar, where it whirls away to stack itself neatly with several others. “No, and they didn’t ask me for a discount this time. I think they’re learning.”

“At long last,” Vance says dryly. “Black, you failed to tell me you were one of _those_ Blacks.”

“Why, so you could boot me right out the door?” Bazz wants to know, then rolls his eyes at the look she gives. “Oh, come off it, it’s not like it mattered before.”

Vance inclines her head, accepting that. “I've called in Jones and Hart for the next two days, and put Bones on call. Barring another emergency, you won't be needed after tonight.”

“Thanks,” Bazz says gruffly. “I've got business at the Ministry tomorrow, so that helps.”

Vance gives him a sharp look. “Regarding Sirius?” she asks.

Bazz blinks, then raises a brow at her. “Yeah,” he says suspiciously. “You knew him?”

Harry is entirely lost, and a glance at Giselle shows she doesn’t seem much better. When she catches him looking, she rolls her eyes skyward and shakes her head, and Harry hides a smile.

“We worked together once,” Vance says, close to grim. “Be careful, Bazz. This is one hornet’s nest that should be left un-kicked.”

“Being careful’s boring,” Bazz retorts, and at the sound of a bell chiming he turns, scuffs Harry's hair, and vanishes back into the kitchen.

With a sigh, Vance nods to Harry and then follows, and Harry and Giselle watch them go.

“They're the boring ones,” is Giselle’s verdict. “Do they think they’re spies?”

Harry can't help but snicker at the image, especially with the memory of Bazz threatening Uncle Vernon so close. “I don’t think Bazz could be a spy,” he says.

Giselle laughs. “He’d be the worst,” she agrees, digs around behind the bar for a moment, and then drops a bowl of cocktail cherries in front of Harry's seat. “Want to learn how to tie a cherry stem in a knot without using your hands?” she asks.

“Sure,” Harry agrees, always up for a challenge. He takes a sip of his soda as Bazz stalks past, carrying a tray, and Bazz casts him a quick grin despite the way his brows are furrowed.

Propping the tray on the bar for a moment, he drops a steaming plate at Harry's elbow, orders, “Eat something, okay,” and then keeps going, and Harry happily inhales the smells, stomach rumbling.

This is _definitely_ better than staying with the Dursleys.


End file.
